Recently, I had the pleasure of spending three weeks in the Berkshires, which (for those who don't know) is a section of western Massachusetts and northeastern New York where there are a lot of mountains, resorts, antique stores, air conditioning and old people.

Located on the New York side of things is also a theater. I'm a musician, and I play piano and conduct the orchestras for theaters all over the country. I do this for a living, not just for fun. This is my job. I am paid. Usually I am paid well, because usually, I do my job well.

As I've gone along in my career, I've encountered some wonderful theaters, some wonderful productions and some wonderful musicians. I've also encountered the other end of the spectrum on all three counts as well.

As a bit of background, I'll tell you that I was hired to do Guys and Dolls. It's a lovely musical written by Frank Loesser. It's an American classic. I was excited to do it. I had worked at this theater before, and it had generally been a positive experience. And now, at the end of the summer, I thought three weeks in the Berkshires would be nice. That was then, as they say. About twelve minutes into my first day on the job, I knew I had gone straight to hell.

First, let me educate you as to who's who.

The Big Jew (piano, conductor); 26 years old, 9 years of professional theater, 2 prior productions of Guys and Dolls (one as Asst. Conductor, one as an actor), a general affection for intelligence, humor, talent, Altoids and sushi.

Eleanor Richards (synthesizer); 40-something years old, ?? years of professional theater, 1 prior production of Guys and Dolls (as pianist), a general affection for arriving late and playing a lot of wrong notes.

Derek Stewart (drums); 17 years old, 0 years of professional theater, 0 prior productions of Guys and Dolls, it would seem 0 prior productions of anything, a general affection for not paying attention, watching the actors backstage instead of the musical director at the piano, not counting beats properly and never learning his part.

Okay, so one out of three isn't a boy. And after participating in this trio for two weeks, I can hardly call it a band. But this is what I got.

So I'm going to go into some more detail about my musicians. First of all, some basic expectations I have for musicians:

1. Show up on time.
2. With a reasonable curve, learn your part.
3. Pay attention. Whether you like it or not, I'm in charge.
4. Be generally talented, or at the very least, competent at your instrument.

Eleanor and Derek each managed to strike out on all four.

So back in April, when I agreed to do this show, I asked what musicians I got. I was told I'd get a synth and a drummer. I asked for a trumpet. I was told I would get a trumpet.

So in July, when I talked to them again, I asked about the musicians, and I was told I had a synth player (this Eleanor Richards, who had worked there before), and a drummer (who they hadn't found yet). I asked for a trumpet. I was told I would get a trumpet.

So in August, when I arrived, I asked about musicians. Eleanor was still lined up, but they still also had no drummer. I asked about a trumpet. I was told that the drummer was the first priority, and they couldn't look for a trumpet player until they had a drummer. Maybe Eleanor played trumpet, they said. I pretended not to consider that option. I am also told that my first orchestra rehearsal is on Sunday, August 22, after the evening performance of the current show, Little Me. That means it starts at 9:30pm. Yikes. And then I would get the band Monday night at rehearsal, day and night Tuesday and Wednesday, and then for opening Thursday night. Great.

So on Friday, August 20, they find a drummer who can do the first week, but not the second week. They hire this man, and look for a second-week drummer.

So on Saturday, August 21, they decide not to use this one-week drummer, and find a friend of a friend of a teacher of a cousin of something who recommends this high school kid to play drums. They hire this high school kid. His name might be Derek Stewart.

So on Sunday, August 22, I'm making sure I'm ready for my rehearsal. I find out I don't get to meet Derek Stewart until Tuesday, August 24. We open on Thursday, August 26. I groan and sigh, but accept it and move on.

So that night, I'm rehearsing with my orchestra, which currently consists of me and Eleanor, a drummer who won't show up until Tuesday, and the trumpet player I was promised but never given.

I had decided that Eleanor would play my synth instead of hers. She told me about what she had, and that it would take her a long time to program it and all, and I told her that I'd do all the programming and preparation for her part of the band. All she had to do was play. She liked that plan. So on Sunday night, she has her book (which I had marked up with pink and blue highlighters -- blue for patch changes, pink for which notes to play), she has my keyboard which is all programmed and ready for action (the blue-highlighted numbers in her score match the patch numbers on the keyboard). I have speakers, pedals, a music stand, everything.

So she shows up late for rehearsal. I don't know how she pulled that off. She was in the band of the current show, which ended at 9:05. She was called to my rehearsal at 9:30. It was in the same building. She wasn't ready to start playing until 9:40. Oy.

So she looks at the keyboard and starts asking me questions about buttons and levers and knobs and things. I tell her it's all programmed. She just needs to play the keyboard, and press the patch pedal (which is on the floor) every time she sees a blue number in her book. It will automatically go to the next patch. Just play the keys, press the pedal. Simple.

"I don't like this kind of pedal."

"Eleanor, this pedal will work fine. I know it's not what you're used to, but it's a normal pedal, and I know it works. Wait, where are you going?"

So she goes out to her car and brings in some other kind of pedal which is only partially compatible with my keyboard. We get it working, and we're set to go.

"I'd rather use my amplifier than these speakers."

"Eleanor, it really doesn't matter what speakers we use. Wait, where are you going?"

So she goes out to her car and fifteen minutes later brings her amp back in. She rewires everything, forgetting how it was all arranged originally (so I have to come and rewire it, which pissed me off since I didn't want to unwire it in the first place).

So it's now 10:05. She sits down. I talk through the first piece, explaining the cuts. I explain to her how some of her parts need to be played an octave higher or lower than what's written. And I explain that I've made those indications in pink in her book, so she should see them there. [NOTE to non-musicians: an octave transposition on the piano is simple. Any pianist with minimal training can do it.]

So I cue the first downbeat to the overture. I begin playing. The synth emits no noise. I stop playing.

"Eleanor, what happened."

"What does this pink mean again?"

Inside, I scream. In reality, we get started. About ten minutes later, she stops playing. I stop.

"What happened?"

"I think I should be playing bass here. But there's no bass."

"That's because I don't want bass there, so I didn't program bass."

"Well, I'd have put bass there. It should be there."

"Eleanor, I appreciate the suggestion, and I'll consider it. But for now, just play the pink."

Twenty minutes later, she stops again.

"What now?"

"There's nothing happening on this one."

I go and look. She plays the keyboard, and no noise comes out. I look at the page, and I point to the octave marking I had made. She plays what's written, and there is the noise.

We're working on another song, and she leaves out two measures of the lead melody line. I stop and ask what happened.

"Page turn."

"How about you turn the page with your left hand. I don't mind if the bass stops for a few beats, but not the clarinet."

"Okay."

We try it again. Same thing happens.

"Eleanor, what now?"

"Page turn."

"Eleanor, this is the place I said to turn with your left hand so we didn't lose the melody."

"Oh, I didn't know it was this page."

"How about you make that a permanent choice, a global choice. Always turn with your left hand so we never lose melody."

"Okay."

We play that piece again, and while full of wrong notes, she turns the pages left-handed. Brilliant.

We play the next piece, and the first page turn is right-handed.

"Eleanor, by global, I meant for the whole show, not just that song."

So things managed to get better over the next two hours. We got through the whole show. She managed to keep forgetting to pay attention to my cues and cutoffs, to the stuff in her book telling her what octaves to play in, and in general to many of the actual notes on the page. But I felt confident that she would get it sooner or later.

So when we finished rehearsal, I told her that there are some parts in the score that are pretty crucial, and I needed her to practice those before Monday night's rehearsal.

"I'm not going to be able to do that."

"Why not?"

"I work four jobs, so I don't have time."

"Will you be at rehearsal tomorrow night?"

"Yes, but I'll be late."

There's a shock.

"Will you be able to practice before Tuesday night?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I work four jobs, so I don't have time."

"Eleanor, this is one of your four jobs. It requires practice. You need to make the time."

"I'll get it by the end of the first weekend."

"That's not really soon enough. Opening night isn't even soon enough. Dress rehearsal is barely soon enough. Tomorrow would be great. Please make the time."

So Monday night comes around. She hasn't practiced. She sounds as if she's played it all once before. Which is about accurate. We go through the same conversation again, this time regarding Tuesday. Except there's a hitch.

"No, I can't be there until Tuesday night."

"Why not?"

"I work four jobs --"

"Right. How early can you get here?"

"Well, I might have something to do in the afternoon, so if I do, then not until eight. If I don't, then at six."

"This is pretty important here. Let's see you at six."

"If I come at six, I'll need a dinner break."

"What are you doing before six?"

"Nothing."

"How about you eat dinner at five, BEFORE you come here? That's what I'm doing, since I have to be here at six."

"I guess I could."

Right. Now I won't see Eleanor again until six on Tuesday. But I see my drummer on Tuesday morning at ten.